


The Business of Building Families

by thesloaneranger



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: AU - completely au after the african mission announcement, F/F, Families of Choice, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesloaneranger/pseuds/thesloaneranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden knock startled Patsy from her daydream. She quickly went through the list of mothers nearing term in her mind, trying to figure out which one it could be and why on earth they had sent someone to fetch her instead of calling, flipping the light on before opening the door.<br/>There, shivering on the doorstep in only a dress, was Miss Taylor. </p><p>With half of Nonnatus House abroad for a mission trip, those remaining are already stretched thin enough. An unexpected arrival provides even more complication.</p><p> </p><p>AU. Trigger Warnings can be found on individual chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

The sky was just beginning to lighten as Patsy stepped from the small house. She pulled the door shut, muffling the wails that announced the newest member of the Martin family, and took a deep breath of the frigid late-December air.

An experienced mother with a well-prepared household, a baby in proper position, a grinning father nearly hopping with excitement and calling encouragement from the other side of the door; in and out in under four hours – practically perfect – except, of course, for the time of night.

With most residents of Nonnatus House having departed for Africa, the remaining few were stretched thin and the long hours were taking their toll. Patsy’s workload had tripled in the past few weeks, even with the rotation of midwives the NHS sent to help and Delia undertaking most of the district nursing duties.

Patsy could hear the busy rumble of work from the docks as she began to peddle back to Nonnatus House. She quickly stifled a yawn as she cycled closer to the lone figure walking hurriedly down the street. The girl mustered a smile and Patsy slowed, recognizing her as the daughter of a local greengrocer.

 

“Good Morning, Miss Taylor. Early start today?” Patsy couldn’t quite remember her first name. Petunia? Violet? Something floral, in any case.

 

“Hullo, Nurse,” seeing Patsy’s questioning gaze, she gestured to the bags in each hand. “Just picking up a few things for Da. He special orders these,” She pulled a large red fruit from the bag. “It’s called a pomegranate. Here, you should try it!”

 

“Oh, thank you!” Patsy accepted it gladly and began digging for her wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

 

The girl flashed a tired grin, “Oh no, please,” she said, “It’s a gift. Christmas and all, even if it’s a bit late. If you like it, just tell people where you got it from.”

 

Patsy nodded, “Of course.” She hesitated, noticing the dark circles under the girl’s eyes.

 

“Miss Taylor, forgive me, but are you feeling alright? You’re quite pale. I know with Dr. Turner out of town some are hesitant to visit his replacement, but you are more than welcome to come to one of us nurses if you need anything, ”

 

The girl shrugged and pulled her bulky coat closer around her thin shoulders. “It’s nothing, Nurse. Just some long hours lately is all.”

 

Patsy narrowed her eyes slightly. “If you’re sure. But please do hurry home out of the cold; I’d hate for you to catch something and ruin the last of your school holiday.”

 

The smile this time was more of a grimace. “Ah, no holiday for me. I mostly work now, what with the stall being so busy and Lily always running around getting in trouble.”

 

Patsy was about to protest when Miss Taylor looked at her watch and grimaced, cutting her off. “Sorry Nurse, I’ve gotta get going. I hope you enjoy the pomegranate.”

 

Patsy watched her retreat up the street towards her family’s small shop, laboring under the weight of her wares. She understood the decisions some households had to make in order to survive but she so hated seeing children having to choose between helping provide for their families and their educations. Especially with someone so bright; Patsy could remember stopping at the stall with Barbara and marveling at how quickly and accurately the Taylor girl had done sums and percentages in her head without having to use the til or put pen to paper at all – a feat that had Patsy more than a little envious and Barbara had proclaimed to be near wizardry.

Sighing, she looked at her own watch before pedalling off once more. She resolved to speak with Mr. Taylor; surely there was a way his daughter could return to school without causing too much difficulty. But for now it was late, or rather early, and she had a warm bed waiting for her.

 

Patsy hurried in from the cold, trying to rub some of the feeling back into her numb fingers without damaging the pomegranate or dropping her bag. Sister Mary Cynthia smiled at her from behind her cup of tea, a book lying open on her lap as she waited by the phone.

 

“Good morning Patsy, everything go well with the Martins?”

 

“Oh, yes,” smiled Patsy, “a little brother for Angela and Carla. With quite a set of lungs, I may add!”

 

“Oh, they’ll be so pleased,” the nun replied. “Carla told me that she wanted a little brother for Christmas just last week.” She picked up her book; “There’s more hot water for tea if you’d like.”

 

“Thank you, but I think I’m going to try and fit in a few hours’ sleep before clinic this afternoon.”

 

Patsy set to work unpacking her instruments and starting the autoclave. Unbidden, a smile crept onto her face as she thought of what awaited her upstairs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t know how you’ll survive without me,” Trixie had declared at the table three weeks ago.  

 

The residents of Nonnatus had been seated for dinner a scant two days before half of them were set to depart for their African mission trip, each embroiled in their own conversations – a veritable flurry of last minute plans, reminders, and to-do lists.

 

“A whole month without a roommate!” Trixie joked, “However will you cope?”

 

“I know,” Patsy had agreed as solemnly as possible, “I’m afraid insomnia may be on the horizon. Unfortunately, it seems that your snores have become rather like my own personal lullaby.”

 

“Patience Mount, I do NOT snore!” She huffed as the women around the table chuckled at her faux-rage.

 

“It _is_ a shame though,” said Barbara. She felt tremendously guilty that Patsy and Delia were to be the only two nurses left behind. “I know I sometimes have trouble sleeping in a room alone, especially after so long sharing.”

 

She brightened suddenly, fork clattering against her plate. “Oh, I know! Maybe Delia could take Trixie’s bed while we’re away? Like a sort of substitute roommate!”

 

Patsy fought very hard to keep her face neutral.

 

“What a lovely idea,” said Phyllis, smiling behind her teacup.

 

“Yes, of course,” agreed Trixie. “You’re more than welcome to, Delia.”

 

“Well,” Delia had started. Her tone was carefully casual, but her eyes, when they briefly caught Patsy’s, had flashed with mischief. “I _would_ hate to be responsible for any of your sleepless nights.”

 

Patsy had promptly choked on her tea.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Patsy nearly skipped up the stairs despite her fatigue. Creeping into the darkened room, she began to undress as quietly as possible. Evidently, not quietly enough – Delia sat bolt upright in bed.

 

“ _Hoozat?_ ” Delia’s voice was thick with sleep, eyes squinting into the darkness. “Pats? What time is it?”

 

Patsy paused in buttoning her pyjama top to properly take in the adorable sight of sleep-rumpled Delia, hair in wild tangles and nightdress askew. “Don’t worry, darling, you’ve still got another three or so hours to sleep.”

 

“Oh, thank God.” Delia collapsed backwards into the heap of blankets. Patsy watched, bemused, as an arm emerged from the pile once more, beckoning her.

 

“Come to bed, Cariad.”

 

Patsy climbed in behind Delia, sliding an arm around her waist and letting her snuggle back against her chest, smiling into dark hair as Delia hissed about Patsy’s cold feet. Before long she could hear Delia’s breathing begin to deepen and even out.  

 

“Rwy'n dy'n garu di”

 

“I love you too,” whispered Patsy, pressing a kiss behind Delia’s ear. “So very much.”

 

 

The past few weeks had been some of the happiest of Patsy’s life.

Christmas at Nonnatus was always so different from the Christmas’ of her youth; warmth and light and togetherness in a way she could never have dreamed. Even this year, with the larger portion of the residents away, it had been beautiful, if a bit subdued.

Patsy, Delia, Sr Mary Cynthia, and Sr Monica Joan had celebrated the holiday with a dinner provided by Mrs. B and Violet, the table positively groaning under the weight of all the dishes. Chummy, Sergeant Noakes, and Freddy had joined them; Chummy bringing endless stories from the Mother and Baby House and a delightful pudding that Fred had four helpings of, Violet watching with a look that seemed to be a strange combination of exasperation, slight disgust, and pure love.

Young Freddy, now old enough to grasp the whole concept of Christmas morning, had been so excited he had hardly been able to remain seated. Instead, he alternated between babbling about what treasures awaited him, spinning in his chair at high speeds towards the windows every time he heard something that could have been a sleigh bell (Delia had surreptitiously returned to the kitchen and turned off the radio Mrs. B had left on carols after the fourth time), and desperately asking his parents if it was time for bed yet – an occurrence that Peter lamented only applied to Christmas Eve. It was only after Sr Monica Joan had spoken, heavily insinuating that she was a close friend of Father Christmas that Freddy had remained in his seat.

 

“He even ate all his peas!” Chummy had marvelled, “I should have told him Sister Monica Joan knows all of his heroes ages ago!”

 

They had all laughed as they watched Freddy’s eyes track Sr Monica Joan’s every move, desperate to prove he belonged on the ‘nice’ list.

 

After the guests had left and Patsy, Delia, and Sr Mary Cynthia had tidied up and washed the seemingly endless dishes, they’d all retired to the sitting room and crowded around some sort of holiday special. It had been cold enough that Patsy and Delia had been able to share a blanket, thighs pressed together, warming Patsy in a way that made the December chill disappear completely.

Christmas morning had passed in a blur of colour as the house bustled off to mass, leaving all the small gifts neatly piled together as per their unanimous decision to wait to be able to include the rest of Nonnatus House.

As Patsy stood in the church pew surrounded by the community she had made a life in, listening to the voices rise up together in song, she had felt truly blessed. Delia had stood beside her, her voice ringing out clearly, high and lovely, and she’d caught Patsy’s eye and grinned. Patsy hadn’t been able to stop the way her heart swelled in her chest or the way her eyes became a little misty. She had found a home. A home unlike any she had ever dared to hope for. Delia’s thumb had brushed the soft skin of the underside of her wrist, and Patsy had smiled and smiled and smiled.

It was like they had dreamed when they had been preparing the flat; every day Patsy and Delia worked hard side by side and every night they got to fall into bed together, swapping little stories and laughing about their day, trading their professional personas for soft smiles and softer hands.

And every morning Patsy woke up, no matter how late she’d gotten in, just to kiss Delia goodbye and wish her luck as she left for district rounds.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry I can’t take you out tonight,” murmured Patsy. She and Delia were the only two left in the community centre, cleaning up after another long afternoon of the prenatal clinic.

 

Delia smiled, “Please don’t be, Pats. We’ve all been pulling so many shifts since everyone went on the mission trip it didn’t even occur to me to hope we’d be able to have New Year’s Eve off. Honestly, I’m really looking forward to just a nice cup of tea and having Sr Monica Joan teach me how to do a proper King Charles Brocade.”

 

She shrugged as Patsy chuckled; the image of Delia and the elderly nun’s heads bowed together over piles of yarn or old leather-bound books, chattering like schoolgirls, had become quite frequent in the past few months.

 

“Besides,” Delia’s smile was warm, “we’ll have plenty of other New Year’s Eves together.”

 

Patsy’s heart skipped a beat – the way it always did when Delia mentioned their future. She loved the way Delia spoke of their relationship in absolutes; like there was never any doubt in her mind they belonged together, like every obstacle was only to be viewed as a temporary setback, like no matter whatever else happened in the world there would always be the two of them there at its center, together, holding fast.

 

“Yes,” she promised softly, “Plenty of them.”

 

 

That night Patsy was on call. She was slowly making progress in an old tome Sr Monica Joan had lent her, trying to keep from nodding off beside the telephone. Whether the book – a dense and lengthy history of the crusades – was actually helping to keep her awake remained to be seen.

The others had all trailed off to bed long ago. Delia was the last of them, waiting until a full half-hour had passed since Sr Mary Cynthia had disappeared up the stairs before daring to press a series of long, languid kisses to Patsy’s lips and finally saying goodnight.

Even now, over an hour later, Patsy could still feel the slide of Delia’s lips, her soft breath, the delicious pressure of her love’s hands on the side of her neck. She longed to join Delia upstairs, to take her into her arms, to make her sigh into her mouth, to press her back against the mattress, to –

 

A sudden knock startled Patsy from her daydream.

 

She blushed furiously, glancing at the clock to confirm the late hour before smoothing her uniform and hurrying to the door. She quickly went through the list of mothers nearing term in her mind, trying to figure out which one it could be and why on earth they had sent someone to fetch her instead of calling. She flipped the light on before opening the door.

 

There, shivering on the doorstep in only a dress, was Miss Taylor.

 

Her eye was blackened. A cut on her cheekbone was bleeding sluggishly, matting the messy dark hair brushing against it. Her left arm was being held awkwardly, gingerly. In her right arm she carried a sleeping child, wrapped in what Patsy recognized as the older girl’s own large coat.

 

“Help us,” She wheezed. “Please.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

In the two minutes it took to bundle the two girls into the living room of Nonnatus House, the younger (Lily, Patsy’s mind supplied, this must be Lily) had woken up and started crying. “

 

R-Rooooosieee,” she sobbed, rubbing at her eyes tiredly, “I w-wanna go h-hoooome!”

 

“I know,” Patsy saw the elder Taylor girl grit her teeth as she tried to soothe her sister.

 

She guessed Miss Taylor was more seriously injured than she was trying to let on and knew she had to examine her. She hurriedly fetched blankets for the girls and gestured to the couch.

 

“Sit here,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft and calm, “I just have to wake someone and fetch my bag. I’ll be right back.”

 

She could see the way Miss Taylor’s eyes had begun to dart back towards the entranceway, the nervous way she was biting at her lip.

Patsy caught her eyes and held, trying to show without words that she meant business, “Stay. Please. I’ll be right back.”

 

She hurried off, Lily’s cries and her sister’s soft assurances following her.

Patsy's mind was scrambling for answers as she bounded up the steps; there’d been some sort of attack evidently, but why had she come here and not to the surgery? Why hadn’t she called the police or an ambulance? Why had she walked halfway across Poplar so late at night?

She woke Sr Mary Cynthia and explained the situation quickly before darting back downstairs and gathering her equipment, worried that left too long on their own the girls might leave.

As quick as she moved, by the time she’d located the necessary supplies both Sr Mary Cynthia and Delia were hurrying down the stairs in their dressing gowns. And as the three of them swept into the living room, drawing the wary gaze of the two girls, it wasn’t just Patsy who let out a gasp.

Miss Taylor had stood from her place beside Lily as they’d entered, and without the bulk of a jacket or child curled around her, the bump that sprung from her small frame was painfully obvious.

 

“Oh no,” Sr Mary Cynthia whispered beside Patsy. “Oh no.”

 

Patsy stepped forward. “Miss Taylor,” she began, “you’ve obviously been through quite a lot tonight.” Patsy’s heart ached at the girl’s teary eyes. “Would you please tell us what happened?”

 

“Rose. Please, just Rose,” she choked out. “And I - I _can’t_. Not in front of Lily.”

 

“That’s alright,” Delia was at Patsy’s side, voice reassuring and warm. “No rush, Rose. But please let Nurse Mount take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

 

Rose looked back at where Lily sat, warily peeking over the lapel of the borrowed jacket. “Alright,” she agreed quietly. “But I’m not leaving her.”

 

“Of course not,” said Sr Mary Cynthia. “You can stay right here, together. I’ll go make us all some tea, shall I?”

 

As the small nun turned to leave, Patsy caught Delia’s eye and knew she was thinking the same thing; how their friend must have taken one look at the battered young girl and immediately been taken back to her own attack just a few short months ago.

 

Delia’s mouth tightened and Patsy nodded. “I’ll go help the Sister fetch everything,” she said, “Please let Nurse take a look at you Rose.”

 

Rose nodded, steeling herself, and Patsy motioned for her to sit as Delia left the room. “Let's start with stopping that bleeding, shall we?”

 

 

* * *

 

  

Delia entered the kitchen to find Sr Mary Cynthia with her back to the door; slight shoulders shaking as she struggled to breathe. Delia fought her instinct to surge forward and take the nun into her arms, instead moving slowly so that she was in Sr Mary Cynthia’s line of sight before reaching towards her slowly, touching her with a gentle hand.

 

“Just breathe,” she said, pained to see the Sister suffering so, “It’ll pass. Just breathe – in and out. In and out. That’s it.”

 

They stood there, Delia breathing slowly and deeply and Sr Mary Cynthia fighting to match her. Delia’s hand moved in soothing circles as tears spilled over the Nun’s cheeks. When the hyperventilating stopped, Delia cautiously opened her arms, not knowing whether the gesture was wanted or not, but determined to let her friend know the option was there. The Sister leaned into her gratefully and cried quietly into her dressing gown.

When the kettle finally whistled, she pulled back, wiping at her eyes, embarrassed.

 

“I- I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I don’t know what’s come over me. I didn’t mean to…” She broke off, eyes lowered.

 

Delia patted her forearm gently, relieved to find that the Sister had at last stopped shaking. “Nonsense,” she said firmly. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

 

Sr Mary Cynthia looked exhausted in the yellow light of the kitchen. “This isn’t about me,” she said firmly, almost to herself. She pulled her sweater tighter around her body, shivering. “I just saw her and I –” She sighed and moved away to busy herself with the tea. “This is about Miss Taylor. Not me.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” Delia said quietly. “I can’t imagine – ” she cut herself off when she saw Sr Mary Cynthia’s back stiffen. “It’s okay to not be alright.” She watched the nun’s hands tremble as she set the teapot and cups on a tray. “It’s okay.”

 

Sr Mary Cynthia’s slight smile didn’t quite make it all the way to her eyes. “Thank you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Patsy looked up as the others re-entered the room, her eyes flickering to Delia’s questioningly. Delia simply nodded before crossing the room to pull a blanket over the now sleeping Lily.

 

Sr Mary Cynthia handed Rose a cup of tea, eyeing the splint and sling Patsy had fashioned for the girl’s arm. “Well sugared,” she said quietly. “If I may ask, what is the extent of the injuries?”

 

Rose grimaced, looking down at her tea, so Patsy spoke instead. “Bruising and several lacerations to the face.”

She tried to remain clinical enough without sounding detached and alienating Rose. “Her left arm is likely fractured, and I suspect a few broken ribs on her left side, but no decreased breath sounds indicating a punctured lung or any sort of significant internal damage. I was just telling her that we’ll have to make a trip to the surgery in the morning to make sure. And to put her arm in a cast.”

 

Delia caught her eye and glanced significantly towards Rose’s abdomen.

 

“Everything else seems to be in order,” Patsy finished quietly.

 

The room was silent apart from the wind whistling outside and the soft, snuffling snores from Lily.

 

Patsy sighed and broke the silence. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you some more questions, Rose.”

 

Rose looked down at her lap, lip trembling. Her right hand, as bruised as her face, softly wiped away an errant tear. Patsy could see she was shaking, fighting for control over her emotions and, instead of pressing, made a decision.

 

“But,” she said gently, “They can wait until morning. We should call your parents,” she remembered, “I’m sure they’re worried sick about you.”

 

Rose’s face paled.

“No, please,” she begged, spilling her tea but paying no mind to the way it splashed onto her lap, the way it must have scalded. “Please don’t call him, he can’t know where we are – _please!”_

 

Cool dread pooled in the pit of Patsy’s stomach.

She felt Delia shift behind her, and wished that she could reach out to her. Instead she reached out to Rose, placing a gentle hand over the girl’s smaller one. “Alright,” she promised solemnly, “we won’t.”

The other women nodded firmly, also promising. Patsy saw the tension in Delia’s jaw, the muscle jumping there. She saw how pale Sr Mary Cynthia was under her wimple. She knew the sheer terror in Rose’s voice had affected them all.

 

“You’re safe here,” Patsy promised. “Both of you. Perhaps we should all try and get some sleep before tomorrow.”

 

“I think you’re right, Pats,” said Delia. “It’s late and there’ll be plenty of time in the morning.” Her smile was soft as she addressed Rose, “You and Lily can sleep upstairs; I’m sure Barbara and Nurse Crane wouldn’t mind lending you their room.”

 

Rose was hesitant, even as she suppressed a yawn. “It’s okay,” she hedged, “We’ll be fine down here.”

 

“Nonsense,” said Patsy, brisk and businesslike once more. “There are perfectly good beds upstairs.”

 

“I don’t want to wake Lily…”

 

Delia grinned, already moving to the couch. She lifted the small girl into her arms; Lily barely stirred.

 

“Lots of cousins,” she winked at Rose, “means _lots_ of practice not waking up tired little ones.”

 

Patsy helped Rose up and the group set off, Sr Mary Cynthia trailing behind, insisting Patsy go to bed as well and that she would stay up on call. Patsy, thinking of the morning and all of its trials stretching before her, readily accepted the offer.

Delia offered Rose some of her own pyjamas, muttering about how Patsy’s Amazonian proportions wouldn’t work for her, earning a tired smile from the girl.

 

Patsy watched as Delia laid Lily gently on Barbara’s bed, not knowing what to call the feeling taking root in her chest.

As she watched Delia lean over the sleeping child, brushing dark curls from her face and tucking the blankets around her gently, Patsy’s heart constricted. With love or longing or guilt or sorrow she didn’t quite know. What she did know, as they bade the girls goodnight, shutting the door and walking down the hallway to their own room, was that they would get through the difficult questions, the painful truths, and the tears of tomorrow together.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a little chapter for the weekend, hope you enjoy. as you can see, I have absolutely no medical knowledge whatsoever, hopefully it doesn't take too much away from the story overall. 
> 
> thanks so much to everyone who's commented or given kudos to this story! such a lovely introduction to a new fandom - you're all wonderful


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Morning seemed to come all too soon to Nonnatus House. By the time the sun crept over the windowsill, Patsy was already on her third cigarette, long dressed for the day. She’d hardly slept at all, instead laying awake, straining her ears for any signs of distress from down the hall, and watched Delia toss and turn, tangling herself hopelessly in their sheets.

 

“She can’t be a day over sixteen,” Patsy said quietly, taking a long drag.

 

Delia was leaning against the headboard, finally having given up the battle for sleep despite her exhaustion. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she wasn’t even that old.” Her voice was grim. “She looks so young. But it happens; you and I both know that.” She paused, thoughtful. “Do you suppose she told the boy and he hurt her?”

 

“Maybe,” Patsy considered. “But that doesn’t explain why she would have her sister with her, or why she wouldn’t let us call her parents.”

 

“Yes, that worries me. She looked so frightened.”

 

“I know,” Patsy agreed. “I admit I was a bit taken aback. But I suppose it does us no good to guess what happened; we’ll just have to hope Rose will tell us.”

 

“I think she will,” Delia said. “She came here, after all. She remembered what you told her that night; she trusted you enough to come for help – that’s something – and I’m sure she’ll trust you enough to tell you what happened.”

 

Patsy made a little noise of disbelief.

She looked up as Delia moved forward, weaving their fingers together and looking into her eyes determinedly. “Trust me, Pats,” she said, “It’s you she came to – it’ll be you she tells the truth to.”

 

Patsy’s jaw tightened as she remembered Rose’s bruised face, her quiet, desperate eyes, the fear in her voice.

“What if I can’t help her?” she finally whispered, having to look away from Delia’s earnest stare.

 

Delia’s hand was soft as she traced Patsy’s jawline, cupping her cheek and forcing her gaze back up.

“You,” she said firmly, “can do anything.” Patsy brought her hand up, covering Delia’s and leaning into the warmth.

 

“And you won’t have to do it alone,” Delia promised. “I’ll be there. Sister Mary Cynthia will be too. And Sister Monica Joan. We’ll all help Rose together, okay?”

 

Patsy nodded but before she could reply, a door down the hall creaked open, effectively cutting off their conversation. They sat in silence listening to little feet quickly patter down the hallway towards the stairs.

 

Delia brushed a kiss against Patsy’s cheek bone. “I suppose that’s my cue,” she laughed. “I’ll keep Lily entertained. You just worry about Rose for now.”

 

She pulled on her district nursing kit, and Patsy looked on distractedly. “What will we do when you have to leave for rounds? Or when it's time for clinic?”

 

Delia paused doing up her buttons. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose I could take Lily with me, but I don’t think they’ll want to be separated. Could they just stay here? Perhaps Sister Monica Joan could stay with them?”

 

“I think you’re right; I don’t think Rose could relax at all if she didn’t know exactly where Lily was, no matter whether she trusts me or not.” Patsy stubbed out her cigarette carefully, considering. “And I’d rather not to take her to clinic with me despite her need for a checkup. I’m quite certain she doesn’t need to be subjected to the public right now. But I’m not sure it’d be fair to leave them with Sister Monica Joan, or vice versa.”

 

“We’ll figure it out,” assured Delia. A distant thud sounded from downstairs. “Oh cripes, Lord knows what she’s gotten into…”

 

Patsy watched fondly as Delia hurried from the room. She briefly considered lighting another cigarette. Instead, she took a deep breath, bracing herself for the day.

Usually her Nurse Mount persona was enough to get information from even the most reticent of patients. More often than not, adults and children alike responded well to her firm instructions and no-nonsense bearing. But this was an entirely different situation and she found herself quite at a loss at how best to proceed.

She didn’t want to be overly clinical with Rose, as gaining her trust would be imperative to learning the truth, but when she considered the alternative, Patsy couldn’t help but remember her own youth. The way adults’ voices had curved with pity after they learned of her past. The way they half-heartedly performed obligated kindness. Their too soft voices that belied their lack of understanding - she hadn’t needed their insincere, delicate handling; the camps hadn’t made her fragile, they had given her a core of steel.

She could still feel the way it had made her burn with embarrassment, furious at their inept platitudes and the way she had been admonished for not showing enough gratitude for their efforts. Could still feel the tears that had stung her eyes and the painful chore of gritting her teeth and choking them back. She wouldn’t put anyone else through that.

Of course, seeing as today meant a trip to the surgery and consulting the authorities, it was more than likely that any decisions over Rose’s treatment would soon be out of her hands.

Sighing, she followed Delia’s path downstairs, knowing that whatever planned approach they had, Rose’s story wasn’t likely to be straightforward or easy to deal with.

Trauma, no matter its cause, never was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Delia paused in the doorway of the kitchen, watching in muted horror at the scene playing out in front of her.

Lily knelt on a chair she’d pulled over to the counter; her thin arms were shaking with the effort of lifting the full jug of juice, her glass was rattling closer to the edge with every forceful splatter that landed inside it.

The next uneven pour had it tipping and Delia darted across the kitchen, barely managing to catch it before it met the floor, saving the glass but not the juice.

 

“Oops,” whispered Lily. Her eyes were wide and she flinched as Delia shook spilt juice from her hand.

 

“I didn’t mean to, I swear! I jus- just wanted to…” She trailed off, tears gathering. She curled shaking shoulders inwards, making herself even smaller.

 

Delia discreetly wiped her hand on a nearby tea towel, careful to keep her voice soft and bright. “It’s alright Lily, accidents happen.” She extended her dry hand slowly, ushering the child from the chair. “We just need to find a mop now, no harm done.”

 

Lily continued to cry softly and Delia knelt in front of her, taking the girl’s hands in her own.

“Hey now,” she began. “It really is okay, it’s just a little mess. Listen, my friend Barbara dropped a whole bottle of milk in the exact same spot just last month. And it splashed all over the floor too, you should have seen it. The puddle was far bigger than this little one - nearly as big as a lake!”

 

Lily sniffled. “Really?”

 

“It was so big I thought we might have to rent a boat just to get to the next room!”

 

Lily giggled, “That’s silly.”

 

Delia grinned back at her, “A little silly, maybe. But you know what we did?”

 

Lily shook her head, dark curls flying.

 

“We went and found a mop and cleaned it up together. And then,” she paused dramatically, “we had biscuits to reward ourselves for all the work we did.”

 

Lily’s brown eyes gleamed. Delia nodded solemnly before raising an eyebrow, “Do you know anybody who likes biscuits?”

 

“Me!”

 

“You do? How wonderful!” She stood and smiled at the child anxiously shifting from side to side. “What do you say? Shall we clean this mess up and go find some biscuits?”

 

“Biscuits for breakfast? My, Busby, you _are_ a bad influence.”

 

Delia turned, laughing as she spotted the redhead leaning up against the doorframe. “And here I thought you’d be impressed with my efforts to teach the merits of a hygienic workspace, Nurse Mount.”

 

Patsy rolled her eyes fondly and instead of replying, smiled down at Lily who was peeking at her shyly from behind Delia.

 

“Hello Lily,” she said warmly, “Did you sleep well? I hope Nurse Busby here wasn’t -- ”

 

A scream cut her words short, and she whirled, heart pounding, dashing towards it without a thought.

 

“LILY!” The desperate cries were punctuated by the crashing of a door flung open and the pounding of running feet down the upstairs hall. “LILY!”

 

They arrived at opposite ends of the staircase at the same time, skidding to a halt; Patsy could clearly see the blind terror written on Rose’s pale face.

 

“Where is she?” Rose demanded, her chest was heaving as she clutched the banister with white knuckles. “Where did you take her?”

 

“Rose, slow down - “

 

“Where is she?!”

 

“Rosie?” Lily’s eyes were wide as she edged around the doorframe, Delia following quietly. “Rosie, what’s wrong?”

 

Rose came down the stairs so fast that Patsy sprang forward, panicked at the speed, sure the girl was going to trip and injure herself further. Rose paid Patsy no mind, hurrying around her. She fell to her knees in front of Lily, grasping her sister’s shoulders.

 

“I woke up and you were gone, Lily! You know you’re not supposed to leave the bedroom without me! You’re meant to wake me up if you need anything, you _know_ that!”

 

Lily bit her lip and ducked her head, “I know,” she whispered.

 

Rose pulled her sister close, “I was so scared; I thought you were gone.”

 

Lily’s voice was muffled against Rose’s shoulder, “I just wanted something to drink. And you’re so tired now, I just thought…”

 

Rose sighed and let go. “It’s alright,” her voice was quiet, “It’s ok, I know you didn’t mean -” she broke off, sighing again. She tried to stand, grimacing as her injured ribs protested sharply.

Patsy and Delia both rushed forward, each taking an arm to help her stand carefully. Rose glanced at the nurses sheepishly, flushing at the compassion she saw in their gazes. “I’m so sorry, Nurse, I don’t usually make such a fuss, I just woke up and she was gone and I thought - I thought - ”

 

“You don’t have to apologize Rose,” Delia soothed as they gently steered the two girls back towards the dining area. “Really, I’m sure waking up not knowing where Lily was was awful, especially in a place you don’t know very well.”

 

“Besides,” Delia continued, as they settled Rose at the table. “We’re both nurses - Patsy’s a midwife! We’ve heard far louder in our time.” Rose flushed again, but her lips turned up slightly as Delia winked.

 

Patsy marvelled, as always, at Delia’s undemanding way of putting people at ease. A warm hand, a kind word, a gentle teasing lilt in her voice; Delia always knew exactly what a person needed most in the moment.

 

“Now,” Delia said brightly, glancing at Lily playfully. “I believe the young lady and I had some biscuits - I mean business - to attend to?”

 

Lily looked up, giggling. She moved, as if to stand with Delia, but then seemed to think better of it, worrying at her bottom lip. Her eyes turned back to her sister and she sat back down, steadfast, by her side.

 

Rose nudged her, “Go on, then.” She smiled, looking exhausted. “I think Nurse Mount had some questions for me anyway.”

 

Lily's dark eyes searched Rose’s for a long moment. She looked far too serious for her years. Finally, she nodded and went to Delia.

Patsy watched Lily look back over her shoulder, as if she were checking to make sure her sister really would be fine left alone with the red headed nurse. She watched as the little girl, her brow furrowed as if in deep contemplation, reached out and took Delia’s hand. She watched Delia’s face, already warm and open, soften further as she glanced down at the small hand tucked into hers.

Patsy drew a shaky breath when Delia’s eyes met hers, the look in them so full of happy surprise and uncomplicated affection that her heart raced and ached.

Her eyes stung, and she blinked. The moment broke, and she watched the two walk to the kitchen, twin dark heads glinting in the morning sun.

 

Beside her, Rose shifted. Patsy snapped back to reality. She had a patient to take care of; she could ruminate on impossibilities later.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rose didn’t know where to begin.

Nurse Mount sat quietly across from her and she could feel the nurse’s patient gaze, but couldn’t bring herself meet her eyes.

Instead, she focused on the hands folded on the table. They looked strange sitting there - locked in a pattern of tensing and relaxing, as if they were unused to being idle.

They were worker’s hands, she thought. For all that Nurse Mount spoke posh, her hands didn’t look soft and useless like a lady’s. They were well-callused and strong. The fingers, long and thin, were unadorned with any nail varnish.

The skin looked dry and cracked-red, like hers did those times she forgot everything but scrubbing, trying to get clean. The left hand had a thin, white scar on the back of it and as Rose watched, the right slid to cover it, a seemingly subconscious move to hide from view. These were hard hands, she knew. But they’d also been gentle while checking her injuries. They’d been tender when they’d held her own hand. They’d been - Nurse Mount had been - soft and firm and so kind. She’d been so kind.

 

Rose looked up. Nurse Mount was still watching her and met her eyes resolutely. Rose heaved a sigh, breaking the silence, and her injured ribs protested.

“I suppose,” she winced, “I suppose you have some questions.”

 

Nurse Mount nodded. “I do.”

 

Rose grit her teeth and closed her eyes. Already she could feel tears welling, and she clamped down on her lip viciously to hold them back. She’d cried enough. Now wasn’t the time for tears. Now she had to be strong. For Lily.

 

“Go on, then,” she said. “I’m ready.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise - I'm not dead and neither is this story
> 
> has it been almost 2 yrs since I updated? yes.  
> am I deeply sorry in a way only a canadian can truly be? yes.  
> am I still complete ctm trash? very much so, yes. 
> 
> look guys, I'm trying to get this finished for my own sanity and I hope that new updates are gonna be a heck of a lot more frequent - new year, new me, amirite? - but also the last time I said that was like 2 yrs ago, sooooo
> 
> we are now fully into AU here my dudes. this fic was started way back when the African mission trip was first announced and before Teddy was even a twinkle in Turnadette's eye. so that means no sister Ursula and no Hong Kong storyline. 
> 
> but it will not be abandoned! because I do love it, but also because if I don't finish it I'll feel too guilty to truly enjoy writing fluff about Pats and Deels on safari. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ http://thesloaneranger.tumblr.com/ to talk to me about how you seriously thought I had died, about this story, about ctm, or about anything really.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see end notes for trigger warning.
> 
> all mistakes are my own - if anything's too glaring feel free to drop me a line

 

 

“Go on then,” she said. “I’m ready.”

 

Patsy had sat silently for the six minutes it took Rose to speak. She had sat and watched this girl, this child, steel herself as if she were preparing to step onto a battlefield. She’d catalogued the way Rose had stared into space, shadows playing over her face. The way her spine stiffened as she straightened her shoulders. The way she’d bit her lip so hard it looked as of it were in danger of splitting.

Rose was readying herself for a fight. Patsy would need to be careful here, would need to walk the line between pushing for the truth and giving comfort. She had no interest in dealing the girl any more blows. The last thing Rose needed was another antagonist.  

 

“Right.” Patsy cleared her throat. She tried to bend her voice to make it more like Sr Julienne’s, hoping to mimic the way the Nun’s dulcet tones were so easily able to evoke trust and convey empathy.

Delia had joked once that the sister’s voice must be imbued with magic - how else would her mother ever had let her return to her life in London, after all - and Patsy thought, with all she had seen from the head nun, there might have been some truth in that. She certainly could’ve used some of Sr Julienne’s magic now, or at least a modicum of her wisdom. She missed the leader of Nonnatus immensely in this moment; she felt woefully inept faced with this girl, so obviously hurt and lost. Sr Julienne would know what to say. She would know how to help Rose.  

But the older woman was half a world away. Patsy was on her own.

And Rose was in front of her, waiting.

 

“Right. I suppose we should start at the beginning.” Patsy straightened her own shoulders and clasped her hands together on the tabletop, as if this conversation were simply business as usual. “Did you know the person that attacked you?”

 

Rose nodded.

 

“Do they know where you are know?”

 

“No, Nurse,” Rose’s eyes were wide, “I wouldn’t lead ‘em here, I swear. I made sure we wouldn’t be followed.”

 

“I believe you,” assured Patsy. “I know you wouldn’t let any harm come to Lily; I was just making sure." She paused, "You’ve done a wonderful job, you know. Keeping her safe.”

 

Rose scoffed. “I haven’t though, have I? We’re still here, and I’m still busted up, and she’s still scared to death and she almost -” Her voice wavered and she broke off, angrily clearing her throat.

 

Patsy made to reach across the table, but then thought better of it. “Rose, listen,” she lifted a finger to hush the girl. “Just for a moment... do you hear that?”

 

Rose quieted. And there, in the background, Lily could be heard chattering happily.

 

“See?” Patsy’s smile was soft, imploring. “She’s safe. Lily’s here and she’s healthy and -” Patsy stopped, listening harder, “and, if I’m not mistaken, she and Sister Monica Joan are currently extolling the virtues of Pinky and Perky.”

 

Patsy made sure Rose was looking directly at her before slowly closing the distance and squeezing her hand. The girl’s breath caught in what could have been a sob. “She’s safe.  _You kept her safe_.”

 

The pair were quiet. Patsy watched as Rose tilted her head to listen to the group of voices in the kitchen. Her eyes closed.

 

Patsy began again after a long minute, “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened to you, is it?”

 

Slowly, Rose shook her head. The muscle along her jaw was jumping, her already pale skin blanched further. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.  

 

Patsy’s palms were sweating. “Rose, sweetheart, how exactly did you come to be pregnant? Did -" Her voice faltered. "Did someone force you?”

 

Patsy watched the face before her crumple. Her own heart felt as if it had been dropped from a great height. Rose’s grip on her hand was tight enough to be painful.

 

“Yes,” she gasped. “ _Yes_.”

 

And finally, the tears began to fall.

 

 

* * *

  


 

Sister Mary Cynthia’s knees were aching.

Keeping one ear out for the ringing of the telephone, she had spent the rest of the night knelt in fervent prayer.

All rational thought had screeched to a halt upon seeing Rose Taylor. Instead of allowing her to move forward and comfort the girl who so needed help, her mind had taken her hostage - throwing her back mercilessly to that night by the docks all those weeks before.

One look at Rose’s bruised face and her breath had caught painfully - she could feel his teeth breaking her skin, she could smell his rancid breath and unwashed skin, all she could hear beyond the dull roar in her ears was the smack of his fists against flesh and the cries that had been rent from her own throat.

She had faltered. In Rose’s time of need, she had faltered.

And if Delia hadn’t followed her into the kitchen, hadn’t broken the spell that had taken hold, Sister Mary Cynthia was afraid that she might still be caught in that dark spiral even now.

 

So she prayed.

She prayed for Rose, that they might find a way to help her, that those responsible would be brought to justice.

She prayed for Lily, that the child would prove untouched by whatever horrors had befallen her sister.

She prayed for Delia and Patsy and her sisters and all the rest of Nonnatus House, that they might stay strong in the face of whatever was to come, that they might know how much they were loved and appreciated, how much good they did.

 

And, selfishly, she prayed for herself.

That she might overcome this fear that continued to paralyze her, even now, months after the attack.

That she might be provided with a sign of how to help the Taylor sisters.

That God, in His infinite wisdom, might show her a way forward, might give her a way to understand why such things happened, might help her believe again in good things.

Above all, she prayed that she would never again freeze in a moment where she was needed.

 

All her life, all she had ever wanted was to help people.

That man had taken her peace of mind, her bodily autonomy, her belief that she was safe; she prayed harder than she ever had before that her usefulness would not be stolen too.  

 

As the clock struck six, she had stood shakily and made her way to the phone. The NHS had been sending a rotation of nurses to provide support to Nonnatus House’s depleted roster. So far, they had been managing with only two supplementary nurses but Sister Mary Cynthia knew without a doubt that they would need more help to get through today.

Even in her compromised state she had seen the way Rose had gravitated towards Patsy, the way she had watched her with wary eyes but had allowed the red haired nurse to get close enough to help her. She knew Patsy was the only option for the lead in this situation and must be made available if they were ever to get to the bottom of what had happened.

 

After confirming the need for an extra nurse with the London, she went to work readying bags full of tools for the nurses. Seeing Rose so hurt had been difficult and painful and she couldn’t be sure how she’d react upon seeing the girl again.

But she could help this way.

She could make sure that those representing Nonnatus were fully prepared as they went out to help the community.

She could make sure that Rose had people in her corner, even if she herself had to keep her distance.

She could do this.  

 

 

* * *

  


Delia crept to the dining area, loathe to interrupt.

She had left Lily and Sr Monica Joan in the sitting room; the elder nun had squeezed her hand solemnly before sourcing Sr Winifred’s poster paints and challenging Lily to a finger painting competition. Delia, who had been running out of ideas on how to keep Lily entertained within the confines of the convent, had been so grateful she’d resolved to buy the Sister a box of eclairs on her rounds.

Rounds which - she glanced at her watch again - she would have to begin soon.

 

Entering the room, she found Rose half out of her chair, huddled in Patsy’s embrace.

Harsh sobs wracked the girl’s slight frame as she leant into the nurse. Patsy was knelt by Rose’s chair, easily bearing the girl’s weight, but Delia could see that although her love’s expression was resolute, she too was close to tears.

Patsy’s eyes caught hers immediately, and the sorrow and anger she saw there let her know at once that their most fearful hypotheses from the night before had proved to be true.

Her heart ached and she moved forward without thinking, not stopping until she was beside them.

 

Rose looked up from Patsy’s shoulder as Delia kneeled quietly. The bruises on her face were livid and and sore looking underneath teartracks. She was panting slightly from the force of her crying and winced when she tried to dry her blackened eyes.

 

Patsy cleared her throat quietly before speaking, but even so, Delia could tell that her voice was strained. “Rose, I have to go talk to Sr Mary Cynthia. I have to tell her we’re taking you to see the doctor.”

 

The ‘and the police’ went unspoken, but Delia knew they all understood just what today would entail. Rose’s hand clenched tighter on the folds of Patsy’s starched uniform for a moment, but she untangled herself nonetheless.

 

Patsy’s eyes met hers, “And Delia will stay with you until I’m back.”

 

“Of course I will,” affirmed Delia. She shifted, laying a gentle hand on Rose’s arm and moving so her leg pressed against Patsy’s in a silent show of support. “I’m right here.”

 

Patsy nodded and stood reluctantly. Delia lifted her arms and Rose leant into her; the girl seemed too exhausted to keep herself upright at this point. Hands careful, she brushed back the dark curls that had fallen onto Rose’s wet cheeks.

Patsy looked back and they shared a meaningful glance as she leaned tiredly against the doorframe.

 

_I don’t know how to fix this_ , _tell me how to fix this,_ Patsy’s eyes seemed to plead.

 

_'I love you_ ,' Delia thought hard in reply, ' _I love you and we’re going to figure this out.'_

 

She hummed a half-forgotten lullaby as Rose shook against her. Patsy’s heels clicked softly against floor as she walked away, unconsciously keeping time.

  


 

Delia, by virtue of the fact she was the only one with a valid driver’s license, ended up driving them all to the surgery. Nurse Crane had left permission for the Morris to be used in emergencies and it had been collectively agreed that the need to keep Rose and Lily out of public view was urgent enough to count.

 Sr Mary Cynthia had given the newly arrived Nurse Todd, Nurse Benson, and Nurse Johnston their lists before taking Patsy aside to assure her that her only duty for the day was to care for Rose.

Lily, upon hearing that Rose was to leave Nonnatus for the day, refused to be left behind. She’d clung to her sister, turning a dispassionate gaze on anyone who suggested she stay behind. In the end, there had no more time to argue and so she’d triumphantly climbed into the back of the Morris, holding on to a book of fairy tales that Patsy knew for a fact came from Delia’s private collection.

 

They trundled over cobblestone streets towards the doctor. Her long legs cramped as Patsy remained folded in the backseat, trying not to press her knees too hard into the back of Rose’s seat. In the seat beside her, Lily pressed her nose to the window, watching Poplar pass by.

How could anyone have hurt these girls? It didn’t make any sense. Not that abuse of any sort ever did. But how had the community missed it? That a child had been beaten, had been assaulted?

 

Delia fiddled with the radio and Billy Fury’s Angel Face filled the car.

She grinned at Patsy in the rearview, nudging Rose from her thoughts gently. “You know, Patsy’s always said she hates Billy Fury, but I think it’s all an act.”

 

Rose lips twitched slightly and Patsy rolled her eyes, playing along. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” she declared. “The man sounds as if he sings from the bottom of a well.”

 

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Delia quoted, winking in the mirror. She spoke to Rose conspiratorially, “I know for a fact that she’s chosen a number of his songs when it’s been her turn with the jukebox.”

 

Patsy huffed and crossed her arms, but couldn’t help smiling back at Delia, thankful as always for her ease at breaking tension.

 

“The bottom of a well?” Lily was confused. She tilted her head to the side and appeared to be listening to the song carefully. “How does he sound like he’s in a well?”

 

“Oh, er -” Patsy pointedly ignored Delia and Rose’s giggling from the front seats as she considered how best to answer. “The way his voice vibrates, I suppose. It sort of echoes, doesn’t it?”

 

Lily contemplated the song for another moment. “You’re right,” she agreed. “And he does sound kind of wet.”

 

The rest of the song was drowned out by laughter.

  


 

The surgery came into view and the air in the car became solemn once more, their moment of levity abruptly coming to an end.

Patsy helped the Taylor girls out of the car and Delia looked on, worried, desperately wishing she didn’t have to leave for district rounds. Patsy looked as if she felt the same way.

 

Just as Patsy was about to walk away, Delia caught her hand, just for a moment. She stroked the delicate bones with her thumb once before letting go, surprised by her own daring. Patsy looked around the street, startled, before turning back and swallowing harshly, nodding at Delia.

 

“We’ll see you at home,” she said. Delia understood it to mean ‘ _don’t worry too much; I’ll get her through it_.’

 

“I’ll be there,” Delia replied. She meant it as ‘ _I love you. You can do this.’_

 

Delia watched them grow smaller in the rearview mirror as she drove away.

Patsy stood tall in the centre, a dark haired girl pressed to her on both sides. She watched as her love put a careful around around their shoulders, ushering them towards the door.

Delia’s heart fluttered, wishing with all she was that she could turn back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: non-graphic discussion of physical and sexual assault of a minor. 
> 
>  
> 
> hey guys, just a heads up - next chapter is gonna get darker. nothing graphic, but definitely a little upsetting.   
> thanks for reading so far. you're fantastic


End file.
